‘I’m sorry, Sylvie, but we can’t always have what we want.’
If Felix was even still alive…
She pushed the thought deep inside her. ‘I’m useful here. I’ll deal with Baumann in a way that won’t endanger anyone. I don’t want to go.’
He gave her a stern look. ‘You are here to do a job. For your own safety and that of the network and our friends in the Resistance, if you need to be moved, I will move you. Do your best to smooth things with the German, but remember, you’re English and whether it happens sooner or later, one day you’ll be leaving Nantes.’
Sylvie sighed. ‘I’ll go to the Soldatenheim this evening before I go to the club and speak to Baumann.’
‘Good. We don’t want Baumann coming for another impromptu visit, especially as Henri will be at Mirabelle for the time being. Do what you need to do. But be cautious.’
She gathered her belongings. Marcel walked her to the door and took her hand.
‘I’m sure Felix will be safe. He’s quick-witted and brave. He’ll do everything he can to remain alive.’
She nodded, throat too full of grief to dare speak. She’d found happiness with Felix, but all too briefly.
By the time she reached home, she felt too weary even to cycle. As she neared the square at the bottom of the road, she heard her name in a low, urgent hiss. It had come from down an alley. Felix stood in the shadows.
She out a sob, let the bicycle fall and ran to where he stood, seizing him in her arms.
‘Where have you been? I thought you must be dead!’
Felix wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, kissing her face and hair, squeezing her breath from her body.
‘I’ve been hiding since last night. I didn’t dare go home in case somehow I was being followed or Mirabelle was being watched.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Sylvie asked.
‘I had to see you,’ Felix said.
Sylvie’s heart soared. He had come straight to her. But his next words brought her down to earth.
‘I need you to provide me with an alibi. You must say I spent the night here. Do you mind?’
Sylvie forced her face into a smile that felt unnatural. ‘I don’t mind at all.’
‘Thank you,’ Felix said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘When you said you had to see me, I thought you meant…’ Sylvie tailed off, feeling silly.
‘I did.’ He laced his fingers into hers. ‘I do. There’s no one but you I wanted to see. No one else I even considered.’ He peered behind her into the street. ‘I don’t want to talk here. Is it safe to come into your room?’
‘Madame Giraud will be working in the épicerie. I don’t know where Céline will be, but we can be quiet.’
She led the way, and he followed her up to the front of the building, walking silently on the other side of the road. Sylvie didn’t dare look round in case it attracted attention to him. She left the door open, and he followed her up into her room. They saw no one and as soon as the door was closed she sagged onto the chair, her reserves of resilience giving out.
‘I’m so relieved you are safe.’
She began to sob. Felix put his arm around her. They held each other silently, their bodies cleaving together with urgency spoke for them. Something had changed in the moment Felix had appeared in the street. They belonged together and nothing, not even Marcel, could change that.
Eventually, Felix shifted, tucking her into the crook of his arm. He smelt like a man who had spent the night sleeping in a field, but even so there was still the musky warmth and hint of his cologne. His hair and face were filthy with mud, and he looked even more exhausted than Marcel had done. He eased out of his jacket and shirt and dropped them to the floor. Sylvie fetched a bowl of water and he washed off most of the mud from his face and hair then scrubbed his shirt until it looked more presentable. He hung the shirt over the back of a chair to dry.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she prompted.
Felix leaned back and looked at the ceiling. ‘I saw the patrol arriving, but I had no way of warning the men leaving the factory. They ran straight into them. Where were you?’
‘Marcel needed me for something else,’ Sylvie explained. ‘If I had been there, they would be alive now.’
‘It wouldn’t have made a difference. I don’t think the Germans realised they were saboteurs, but they opened fire anyway when they saw them running. If you had been there, you would have been caught up in it. You might have been killed too.’
He made a noise in his throat, leaned over abruptly and drew her close, gripping tightly. He was silent for a while, then loosened his grip.
‘I shot two or three, which gave our third man time to run. Then the explosives went off. While the patrol was preoccupied with the explosion, I ran. I know it was the correct thing to do, but part of me wanted to stay and fight to the death. So many men have died, and I’ve been powerless to stop it.’
The crack in his voice tore into Sylvie. Such bitterness and recrimination.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She laid her hand on his arm, and he looked at her bleakly. She thought back to something Emily had said.
‘Felix, who were the Fifty Hostages?’
His face crumpled. ‘Where did you hear about them?’
‘Emily mentioned them.’ Dieter had too, but Sylvie didn’t want to speak his name to Felix. ‘She said that is why you were bitter.’
‘When Feldkommandant Hotz was assassinated, I had been part of the faction that had argued against it. The plan seemed reckless, and the consequences were uncertain. Unfortunately, our arguments were proven right. As a result of the assassination, forty-eight men were rounded up by the German authorities and executed in retaliation. Eighteen of the men were from Nantes.’
He broke off and made a sound in his throat that sounded like a sob. Abruptly, he climbed off the bed and stood underneath the skylight. He put his hands against the wall and pressed his forehead between them, overcome by his memories.
‘Did you know the men involved?’ Sylvie asked quietly.
His eyes grew bright. ‘Some of them were men I had drunk with and argued with. My brothers in the struggle to free our country. The youngest was seventeen. Only a boy. They went to their deaths, and I walked away free and blameless. I should have been among them.’
He passed a hand over his face, then looked at her bleakly. ‘My stepfather, naturally, did not know I had ever been involved. To his knowledge I was an upstanding citizen. If it had just been his opinion at stake, I might have continued meeting with the remaining men, but my mother had already lost my father. I could not bear to see her distressed any further by losing a son, so I walked away from the groups I had been involved in. I should have been stronger and kept fighting.’
His raw honesty tore at her. She couldn’t remember a time when Dennis would have spoken so freely or with such self-condemnation. There had always been a reason to blame someone else. Always an excuse. Beneath the sullen exterior and the flirtatious club pianist, Felix was a hundred times more worthy.
‘It wasn’t cowardly to walk away when you did not believe in their cause,’ she murmured. ‘Why die for something you did not believe in?’
She tiptoed over and put a hand on his shoulder. Felix looked round. His eyes were hollow with grief. Sylvie put her head against his back and her arms round his waist.
‘You were not to blame then, or for what happened last night. Or you might have been caught. Then I would have known you were dead, not believed missing.’
‘How did you know I was missing?’ he asked. He turned around and put his arms around Sylvie, holding gently.
‘I had to go see Marcel this morning, and he told me. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.’
‘Like what?’ Felix asked.
‘Like I had lost you.’
‘You haven’t lost me. I’m here.’ He kissed her tenderly, then pulled away and looked into her eyes. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Now, tell m
e about last night. What did Marcel ask you to do? Why did you have to see him this morning?’
Once again she told the story of Henri’s misfortune, this time leaving out all mention of Nikki.
‘A setback, that’s all,’ Felix said. ‘There will be other ways of getting him to safety. Marcel did the right thing sending you home. There is nothing you can do now. Nothing there, at least.’
He smiled meaningfully. And then they were kissing. A slow, deep, burning kiss that contained more than any words could. They slipped onto the bed, clinging together. This was more than a craving for his body and for pleasure. She needed the whole of him.
Felix drew away first. He rolled onto his side and leaned up on his elbow to look down at her.
‘Sylvie, I would love to make love to you, and it pains me deeply to admit this, but I am exhausted. I was in hiding for half the night. I hid on the riverbank beyond the city and then crossed back when I reached countryside. I feel like I ran halfway to Calais!’
Sylvie grinned. ‘I don’t mind. Your pride will recover and then you can prove to me how great a lover you are.’
‘What time is it?’
Sylvie looked at her watch. ‘Not even noon.’
Felix smiled, then yawned. ‘Do you mind if I rest here?’
‘I don’t mind at all. I’ll be here when you wake up.’
He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed, rolling onto his side. It was only made for one person and a small person at that. Felix filled it, but there was space for Sylvie to lie if she rolled in close behind him. She watched as his muscles relaxed and his body became loose and heavy. Watching him sleep made her feel tired herself. She kicked her own shoes off and slipped her hand over his waist, finding his hand and lacing her fingers through his. Felix gave a gentle snore and Sylvie smiled.
It struck her that this was the first time she had ever had a man in her own bed. She had so often spent nights with Dennis in his flat, but he had never visited the room Sylvie rented in the boarding house. Sharing her space was a novelty. She wasn’t sure how she’d explain it to Céline or Madame Giraud if they were discovered, but she decided she’d think about that later. She snuggled close into Felix’s back and then she, too, slept.
Sometime in the afternoon, Sylvie was awakened by an urgent tapping on the door. Felix was still fast asleep, so she slipped out of bed, slightly muddle-headed, and opened it.
Céline stood there. She took in Sylvie’s slightly dishevelled appearance, with her blouse crumpled and untucked from her skirt and her hair coming down from its curls. She looked concerned.
‘Have you been in bed? My lord, that’s not like you. Are you ill?’
Sylvie smiled and tucked a hairpin back in. ‘I was having a nap. What do you want?’
Céline tried to look past her. ‘Can I come in? I’ve got a rip in my new stockings and I need to borrow a needle and thread.’
‘Wait there, I’ll get it for you,’ Sylvie replied.
She tried to close the door but was prevented by Céline taking hold of it. Her brow creased, and she leaned forward to whisper.
‘Is something wrong?’
Her concern was touching but inconvenient. ‘No, but my room is a mess. I’ll get you the needle and thread. Wait there.’
She may have got away with it if, at that point, Felix hadn’t rolled onto his back and given a loud snore. Sylvie looked at Céline guiltily and saw amusement on her friend’s face.
‘A man?’ she mouthed. She giggled and put her hand over Sylvie’s. ‘You don’t have to hide it from me if you have got someone in there. I won’t tell Madame Giraud. It isn’t that German from Mirabelle, is it?’
‘No!’ Inspiration struck Sylvie. She leaned forward conspiratorially.
‘It’s Felix.’
Céline’s mouth fell open. ‘Sylvie! I never thought you would take my suggestion seriously. How long has he been here?’
‘Since last night,’ Sylvie said. ‘You mustn’t tell anybody. I’ve been trying to keep it secret.’
‘You mean this isn’t the first time?’ Céline asked sharply.
‘The first time I brought him here, but not the first time I’ve been to bed with him.’
Céline patted her hand with an excited smile. ‘I promise. Your secret is safe with me.’
Sylvie gave her the needle and thread and shut the door. She sat beside Felix and blew gently on his face until his eyes fluttered open. He gazed blearily at her, then gathered her into his arms.
She told him about the visitor. ‘Céline will be incapable of keeping it secret. By the time we arrive at Mirabelle, everyone will know we’ve been hidden away here, misbehaving ourselves since last night. You’ll have an alibi without me even needing to provide it.’
‘Perfect. And she doesn’t suspect I haven’t been here all that time?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘In that case, the only thing left to do is ensure that she is telling the truth in part.’
Felix tugged Sylvie down towards him.
‘I think it’s time we made love, my darling, don’t you?’
It was early evening before they left Sylvie’s bed and Felix went home to Mirabelle with a kiss.
‘I will see you very soon, my darling. Let’s hope Céline is as loose-tongued as we hope and we are the subject of scandal.’
Sylvie kissed him back, feeling slightly guilty because she was not intending to go straight to the club. She had something else to do first.
She waited until Felix had gone, then made her way to see Dieter.
Chapter Thirty
Dieter’s lodgings had once been the Hôtel Villeneuve Sud. Now the sign above the arched doorway had been replaced with the word Soldatenheim in large black letters, announcing that it was now in possession of the army.
From inside, Sylvie could hear loud music and German voices raised in conversation. She rang the bell and asked for Dieter. He appeared at the door shortly afterwards, and he broke into a smile when he saw Sylvie.
‘Sylvie! What a surprise. Would you like to come in?’
She raised her eyes to his and was saddened to see the happiness in them. His smile was so warm that for a moment she forgot the revulsion that his kiss had caused her to feel.
‘Can we walk together?’ she said. ‘It sounds very busy in there.’
‘Yes, we are relaxing. Today has been very busy. Did you hear about last night?’
‘Last night? No, I have been in bed all day unwell.’
Dieter waved a hand dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter. A minor inconvenience to us. A walk would be pleasant.’
They walked along a wide boulevard lined with trees, past a couple of cafés bustling with life as chairs and tables filled with uniformed Germans spilled out across the wide pavements. At the end of the street was a small square, with grass and rose bushes in the centre to form a small public garden. Sweet fragrance filled the air and the temperature was cool thanks to the shade that had been provided by the trees throughout the day. The neighbourhood was old and elegant, built for the wealthy citizens of Nantes. No wonder the occupying forces had claimed it for themselves.
Sylvie put her bicycle on the ground and sat beside Dieter on a stone bench. He leaned towards her eagerly. She licked her lips nervously, then began.
‘Dieter, you asked me last time we met if I could ever love you.’
His expression became joyous, then his face fell. ‘You aren’t smiling as you say that.’
Sylvie took his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I really do like you. I am fond of you. But I don’t love you.’
Dieter grimaced. ‘You could try to love me. I told you, Paris could help.’
His eyes looked so despairing that Sylvie’s heart broke a little.
‘I don’t think love is something that can be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.’ Her heart swelled. At that moment, she knew with complete certainty she loved Felix. ‘I can’t go with you. It would be wrong.’
Dieter frowned. ‘You talk of force… I could make it difficult for you to refuse me.’
He clenched his fist, and she drew her hand free. His voice had taken on a hard edge. Sylvie was reminded unpleasantly of Nikki. How much of Dieter’s malice was due to his friend’s influence as opposed to his own nature showing through when he was feeling thwarted?
‘Yes, you could,’ she agreed. ‘You could make my life very unpleasant indeed. But that wouldn’t make me love you. And you know that.’
She walked away from him. Her legs trembled, but she tensed her muscles to keep it from showing.
‘You could do as you threatened the other day and make me fear for my safety. You could hurt Monsieur Julien or close the club. You could force me to go to bed with you.’
He frowned. ‘Do you have another lover?’
She wanted to laugh. German, French or British, men had that sense of egotism in common. He would find it more damaging to his pride to think there was a better man than that she had been leading him a dance in the cause of France.
‘It follows that because I don’t love you, there must be another man?’
‘Nikki told me you were walking out yesterday evening with a man who you said was your cousin. Was that a lie?’
Sylvie’s limbs turned to ice at the mention of Henri. She glanced back towards the Soldatenheim. Did Nikki live there as well, or had he rushed to visit and share his news with Dieter yesterday? Either way, the result was the same; another person knew of her connection to Henri. When his description was inevitably circulated, Nikki would remember and Dieter would wonder.
‘It wasn’t a lie. Christophe is my second cousin. He stayed one night, with an aunt on his father’s side. I barely know him, let alone love him!’
‘Who then? The piano player who flirts his way around the club? Who gropes you in an alley but then defends you against implications of prostitution?’ Dieter stood and scuffed at the grass with his boot. ‘I’ve seen him looking at you with the same feelings I have. But then he looks at every woman that way. You’ll break your heart if you want him to love you.’
The Secret Agent Page 27
